


you wanted to die under a sky full of stars

by jessng



Series: i will not kiss you [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst and Feels, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hugs, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Attempted Suicide, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Kinda, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Oblivious Lance (Voltron), Pidge is called Katie in this one, Pining Keith (Voltron), Platonic Cuddling, Protective Keith (Voltron), Protective Lance (Voltron), Self-Sacrifice, So many tags, Stargazing, Tears, Unrequited Crush, Zombie Apocalypse, a lot of tears, pls leave comments i cRAVE them, some blood, some consolation fluff at the beginning, was worth it tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 02:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13471452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessng/pseuds/jessng
Summary: but me? even if i had to choose a million times, i would still choose to die in your arms.





	you wanted to die under a sky full of stars

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [This comic](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/353394) by Elentori. 
  * Inspired by [The Walking Dead Game](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/353397) by Telltale Games. 



> so uh i started writing this last year and basically procrastinated on it for an entire year

Keith is a bad liar.

A terrible one.

He hates that Lance always manages to pinpoint when he is lying and what he's lying about, but he guesses it's easy enough for just about anyone can expose him, considering how much he always sucks at not telling the truth. 

But then, there are moments like these. Moments when the air he breathes comes out in shaky puffs, when pain blooms from his arm like thorns pricking his flesh, when he holds back a grimace as he squeezes Lance in his arms. Moments when he has to ensure Lance that he is still here, still alive, and that they will be alright. Even when nothing works out in their favor.

There are moments like these — moments when Keith has to turn into an exceptional liar. 

"Nice save, samurai." Lance murmurs. Keith can hear both of their hearts thrumming in their tight chests, Lance's from the rush of adrenaline that comes with facing imminent death, Keith's from an overshadowing fear of losing someone he cares about too much for his own good. Instinctively, he clutches tighter to the back of Lance's hoodie, hoping the action speaks to Lance the things he is too out-of-breath to say. 

Like "Thank God I made it in time."

Because Keith really has God to thank. It was too close. The herd kept increasing in size, crowding around Lance because his pistol made too much noise. Keith was too invested in his own fight, but he heard all too well the clicking of a gun without bullets. He heard Lance calling out to him, helplessly, only managing to pronounce the one syllable of Keith's name before gripping his backup bat and focused on fending for himself. His call for help turned him into an even juicier prey, and when Keith turned his way, it was as if he could see teeth sinking into Lance's flesh, tearing him into shreds. 

It was too close. But the image of a dead Lance made its way into his mind. It alone fueled him to launch himself into the herd, yelling Lance's name like it was his only hope, sword slicing and stabbing into dead meat. The herd switched to circling him soon enough. Keith didn't mind that, continuing to fight in almost a trance.

And Keith guesses that, somewhere between fending off the undead and letting out a breath of relief upon seeing Lance intact, a set of teeth has found its way to his forearm, giving him a full bite before flying away with a sliced-off head. The pain remains and spreads in his arm like poison, but by then, he has promptly forgotten about it and thrown himself in Lance's arms, too absorbed in hugging Lance, hearing his ragged heartbeats and cherishing them to care. 

Until now. 

They don't let each other go and just stand there on top of a mountain of corpses, relishing in the fact that the other is still alive, and that they've made it out alright again. One of them, at least.

Keith's fingers curl tighter into a fist, nails digging into the inside of his palm to suppress the sharp sting from the bite. He can't tell Lance, not when Lance has just survived an encounter with Death, not when Lance is weaving his fingers through Keith's hair, whispering sweet nothings like Keith was the one in danger. Lance doesn't need to know, not yet, not when his heart has just calmed down, not when it's just so easy for Lance to blame himself, because maybe it's only Keith's paranoia, and there are no actual bites on his arm, and they're fine, they always will be. 

Another wave of pain washes through Keith, as if to tell him that things aren't that simple, can't be. 

"Were you bit?" He asks Lance. It's the right thing to ask after something like that, because Lance is a giant idiot, and if he was bit, he would have hidden it, just like what Keith is trying to do. 

So one of them is a hypocrite.

"Nah, I'm fine, wasn't bit." The answer sounds nonchalant, no strain to it. Lance's body is completely relaxed, and that's good, because Lance is being honest. Keith is relieved. "You good?" The question is to be expected. Lance cares for people too much not to ask, even if he outwardly denies his sentimentality. Still, Keith tries not to tense up too much at it. He grips Lance's hoodie tighter, hoping that it will be interpreted as relief, before letting go of the fabric and sighing against Lance's neck.

"Yeah."

 

The knife falls from his shaky hand. 

Keith jolts at the clank when metal touches a pebble on the ground, then mutters a panicked curse. He peers around, only to see Lance tossing some more wood into the fire, not at all paying attention. The throb from the bite spreads like forest fire, overtaking his entire right arm in less than six hours. Keith grinds his teeth and picks his knife up, only barely able to conceal his arm's relentless trembling.

Pain shoots through him once again as he slides the knife in its sheath. Keith bites back a whimper before dropping his arm to his side. Maybe it will be better not to move his right arm at all, the wound won't be affected as much that way. The lingering pain seems to want to tell him otherwise.

Keith sighs, although its length is a little bit more similar to a normal breath. He chooses to ignore the fact that his breathing is getting more shallow and hopes that Lance won't notice.

"Shit, man, I can't contact anyone." Lance is now fiddling with their walkie-talkie, twisting the knobs on top and rolling the side disc to try and get a signal. "And I mean  _ not a single person _ ." He huffs, exasperated. There is something comical in his exasperation, and it makes Keith chuckle just a bit into his hand. Apparently, Lance notices his reaction. "What are  _ you _ laughing at, Mullet?" Lance squints, indignant, pointing at Keith in mock annoyance. 

"Sorry, you kinda make a funny face when you're frustrated." Keith's chuckle is now reduced to an amused grin. He stands up and walks over to Lance, who has shoved the walkie-talkie back into his backpack. 

"Like this?" Puffing his chest, almost as if to prepare himself, Lance re-enacts his reaction as Keith sits down next to him. This drives another snigger out of Keith. He pushes at Lance, only to be meet the latter's retaliation a second after — a supposed-to-be-harmless punch that lands square on his right shoulder.

Pain. It's an asshole. 

"You, sir, are an idiot." Keith rolls his eyes, wincing a little and hoping Lance won't look into his response too much.

"Yeah, but you love this idiot." His assailant teases, giddy. His lips quirk up into something that stands between a smug smirk and a shit-eating grin, and it alone gives Keith's heart a quick nudge. 

His breath hitches.

Keith has always been conscious of Lance's playful flirting, and the fact that his friend never means for anything he says to be significant in a romantic sense. Regardless, his words do things to Keith's poor heart and make it flutter in the weirdest of ways. 

"No, I don't." He means the complete opposite of what he says, although Lance doesn't have to know that. "You're an idiotic ass and I hate you." Complete opposite.

"Oh come on, Grouchy Mullet." Lance pokes him in the cheek. Keith bats the curious hand away. "You know you love me."

"No I don't, and don't call me that." 

"What were you thinking about then?" Keith forces himself to ignore Lance's pout. 

"How to regroup with Shiro and the others." 

Keith's heart thrums in his chest, although not with the fondness that makes his face flush. He hates it, having to lie. Lance watches his expressions, and Keith tries to keep a straight face.

"Do that tomorrow. I'm exhausted." To prove his point, Lance yawns and stretches, then stands up and walks away, only to stop and gasp in awe at the night sky.

Already, Keith has envisioned his face lighting up so,  _ so _ brightly that he outshines the stars. Just like every other time they end up stargazing together.

"You know, I like it better like this. It's quiet. No street lights blocking the stars. You can see so much more." Keith hears him mumbling. He lets a smile slip onto his face, pretending that he isn't paying attention to Lance's figure in front, to the relaxed way Lance's hands are on his hips, and the little sway he does when he shifts his weight on another leg. No, Keith is definitely not marveling at how Lance's chocolate hair, although short, just seems to flow.

And, in a way that hurts a bit more than the bite on his forearm, Keith tries not to think about the adoration held in Lance's eyes and directed at the sky. He doesn't envy the sky. Who is he to get jealous over some stars? But if those same eyes looked at him with just a fraction of that affection before his last breath, then every stupid thing he has done until this point might finally be worth it. 

When Keith realizes he has been holding his breath, he forces his hands to stay down, stopping them from raising up to clutch his chest. He urges his lungs to obey and suppress its needs, even if it means collapsing and wheezing to try to regain his breathing later on. Lance is lying on the ground, his arms a makeshift pillow, deep blue eyes still gazing fondly at the heavenly sight above their heads. Almost as if he's in love with the stars. 

The corners of Keith's mouth lift up again when he sees Lance fighting his sleep, wanting to stay awake for only a bit longer. His eyelids droop down, covering his eyes, before snapping open forcefully a few seconds later. His actions turn into a cycle, interluded with short periods of time where Lance actually falls asleep a little bit. Keith walks over to him, doing the best he can to imitate a sigh.

"You need to sleep." He covers Lance's eyes with a hand and receives a giggle in return.

"But I wanna watch the stars for, like, the whole night." 

"No, you almost died today. Rest up." Keith replies with his best impression of Shiro's stern voice, the one that puts people in order, but Lance just grabs his hand to shove it out.

"Come o— Jesus Christ!"

"What?"

"Your hand." Lance stares up at him, his confusion made more apparent by the knitting of his eyebrows. 

"What's with my hand?" For a moment, Keith panics. Lance isn't supposed to know this so soon. He thinks of jerking his hand back, but that will only create more suspicion. He refrains. 

"It's so cold." Lance squeezes his hand, then continues,"are you okay? I mean if you're tired, you can rest for a bit and I can take the first shift. It's no big deal." 

Keith pushes Lance back down when he's about to sit up. His hands linger at Lance's shoulders, giving them light squeezes that he hopes will assure Lance somehow. Keith breathes out, fingers only daring to run through Lance's brown locks a bit before retreating. 

"I'm fine. I'll warm my hands with the fire. You just get your beauty sleep or whatnot."

"Yeah, remember to wake me up for my shift." With that, Lance drifts off to sleep. Keith sits down once again, facing away from Lance. He rubs his palms together, unable to feel anything different. That might have been because it's his own body temperature. But Lance has felt it, his hand, the cold, like that of a corpse.

The infection, disease, virus, whatever it is, has chosen this exact moment to make him hyper aware of itself. Keith shudders as it crawls up his veins, finding its way around his shoulder and chest. With his back covering him from Lance, Keith claws at his right arm, begging it to feel something else other than that throb from the bite. He hopes that Lance is quick to fall asleep, he really does, because silent, strangled wheezes are now escaping his mouth as he greedily swallows more air down his lungs, breath after breath. Keith grasps at his shirt, squeezing it so tight he might as well have teared it up. 

Then, as he pulls his knife out of its sheath, it drops to the ground for the second time. Its thud, upon impact, clear and loud.

His fingers uncurl, trembling and unusable. Keith scrambles for the knife, practically leaping forward until he has the handle cupped beneath his right hand. His chest heaves and falls. Gushes of air that have broken to pieces fall out of his mouth, plummeting down and shattering into even tinier pieces on the grass. It has never been labor to hold his knife, so why now? Keith allows himself to crack just a bit, his shoulders shaken by soundless sobs, ones that only he will ever know are there. His vision blurs out, and he grips the knife tighter, like a drowning man holding on to his lifeline.

Why can't he feel it? 

How can something be so far away when it's right there in his hands? 

Metaphorical drowning Keith looks at his metaphorical lifeline, only to see it floating through his hands, drifting further away as he tries to grab and hang onto it. And real Keith? Real Keith isn't doing much better, because now every part of him is screaming to him that he's dying. 

He's dying. Becoming one with the undead. Whichever one works. 

Keith is dying.

 

"Have you ever thought about death?" Lance asked him this one night, some time long ago, when they were both lying on a hilltop in the desert, eyes fixated at the glittering night sky. Keith turned to look at him then, only to see glassy blue eyes reflecting light from the celestial bodies above. He gulped.

Lance wasn't looking at him, but his eyes sucked all the air out of Keith's lungs all the same.

Damn Lance and his pretty eyes. 

"Not really, why?" Keith answered him, lost in Lance's ocean that reflected lights from the stars. 

"Optimist." 

"Coming from Mister If-a-dog-pees-on-me-it-must-like-me-very-much." Barely concealing a snort, Keith turned his eyes back to the stars. trying to map out the constellations like how Lance and Shiro had taught him. Ultimately, he gave up, going back to watching the side of Lance's face, unconsciously smiling like an idiot.

"Because it did! It licked my face afterward, Keith." Lance retorted as he burst out into a fit of giggles.

And then, he didn't say anything else.

The silence that was falling on them was odd, because Lance was a loud person, but Keith didn't mind. It was comfortable like this, having all his attention on an oblivious Lance, who was too engrossed in the stars to even care about his surroundings. Despite that it was a little creepy to stare, and that the amount of time he had been staring at Lance might not even be considered healthy, Keith kept his eyes on Lance. Not like he could take them off in the first place.

"Do you ever have a secret hunch on how you'll die?" The question came so suddenly, and in such an un-Lance way, that Keith thought he had blacked out for a moment or two. But Lance repeated it as he turned to look at Keith, his face stern with an undecipherable expression, ocean eyes still glassy despite his best effort to hide them.  

"Yeah," Keith replied as their gazes locked, "I do," because, as much as he hated to admit, he did, many times. All of those little hunches happened before he met Lance, as, after the first time they met, Keith was certain that Lance would be the death of him, no matter what.

"Me too." Lance nodded, appearing thoughtful. "Actually, I had hunches about how everyone would die." He peered at Keith, almost like he was asking for permission to continue. "I think Hunk will die with his family, you know, his wife, kids, all crowding around him on his deathbed. He'll die of old age, all his plans finished and all his dreams come true. Jolly grandpa Hunk dying with a smile on his face. A happy death." 

Keith thought that the gentle way Lance's hand reached out to pet his hair was completely instinctive, and that, if anyone else had been there, he would have done the same to them. 

"Allura's a hard one. But she'll probably overwork herself to death or something, like taking too much responsibility for her own good, just letting them weigh her down until she snaps." Lance let out a long sigh. "Morbid, huh?"

"Morbidly philosophical." 

"I'll take that. Now, Katie. She's also a hard one." The hand on Keith's hair stopped, probably because its owner had realized what he was doing. There wasn't a hand on Keith's hair anymore after that, and he felt empty. "Katie will die of sleep deprivation. I've heard of people dying from that before, and she fits right in the bill, because, you know, workaholics stuff." 

Keith didn't reply. He usually didn't, and let Lance ramble on. Lance was fine with that. It was routine. 

"Shiro will definitely die saving someone else's life. Guy's annoyingly selfless." Keith wanted to tell him "annoyingly selfless" was a Lance trait as well, but decided against it as Lance continued, "that, or he'll die as a hero. You know the ones. People who single-handedly change history and mark the beginning of a new era for development or whatnot." 

"What about you?" 

"Huh?"

"How do you think you'll die?" Keith's question flew out of his mouth in a single breath. 

Lance seemed okay with it. 

"I think," there was a pause in his answer, almost like he was preparing for a big reveal. Keith swallowed, not entirely sure why he was nervous. "I think I'll die as a nobody. Just a face in the crowd, nothing too significant to remember by."

The silence that was draping itself on them wasn't the pleasant sort. It was spent with Keith's eyes trained on Lance's, where the blue was sad and filled to the brim with water, just waiting to burst. 

"Lance—"

"But you know, that's not how I want to die." 

It was quiet all over again. 

"Most people wish to die in fireworks, with their life purpose completed and the world changed. It's really... nice, I think, to die in glory." Pause. "My idea of death is a little bit more cheesy, not entirely original, but it's how I want to die." Lance pointed his finger up, Keith's gaze followed it, until he met eyes with the stars above. "I want to die under a sky full of stars." 

It took Keith a ridiculously long amount of time to understand those ten simple words. And when he finally did, his eyes focused on Lance again, in time to see a bead of water rolling down from the corner of his eye and dropping to the ground. Keith didn't say anything about it. 

"I don't know why, really." Lance must have sensed Keith's puzzlement, even when the silence between them was a normalcy. "I just... want to die under a sky that looked like my childhood, I guess." There were more tears escaping Lance's eyes now, ones that made his smile quiver and his eyebrows knit together. "My hermanos and I... we used to go out to the backyard every night to just lay down and count the stars until we get too tired." His arm moved, finger pointing at each glowing dot in the sky. "Uno, dos, tres," he mumbled. "And sometimes, we fell asleep outside, but we were back to our beds in the morning. It was like magic. I mean, I knew it was our parents who took us back, but it was amazing, back then at least, to think that the stars teleported us to our rooms, you know."

No, Keith didn't know. But they didn't need his depressing backstory right now, so he nodded, and Lance broke into sobs, strained and strangled like he was choking on the fragments of his memories. 

"I miss home." His voice was broken up in a way similar to his sobs, trembling as he formed fists and tried to rub away his emotions. "I miss it so much." 

And Keith couldn't understand why, because a home and a house were different things, but he only ever had one of them. He couldn't comprehend Lance's attachment to a backyard and stargazing with some people, and neither did he know how magical it was to find himself on a bed despite falling asleep outside the night before. It was fine, though, as all it meant was that Lance had something worth reminiscing and some people to remember and a place to come back to even if the entire world decided to be against him.

"Do you need a hug?" Keith blurted out, reaching a hand to help brush away a few stray droplets, then lingering a bit to feel the cool skin underneath his finger. He saw Lance peeking out from beneath his arm, scrutinizing his face before giving a small nod. 

"Yeah." 

Slowly, as his pace almost made it look like he hardly budged at all, Keith moved closer to where Lance was lying. Silence prolonged between them as he sat just an inch away from Lance. It was the awkward kind of quietness that happened when someone sat next to their crush, because that might have been exactly who Lance was to Keith. Without any other words, Keith pulled the sniffling Lance into his arms, whispering a hushed "C'mere" as he did, one hand clinging to Lance's shoulder, the other softly patting his back. Lance melted into the embrace without effort despite being taller, his face settled in the crook of Keith's neck, long legs resting on either side of Keith's own. 

They sat there, no words exchanged, two stupid boys and a leaking heartache, together under a starlit sky, completely stuck in a moment of their own. 

"You're like the moon." Lance murmured in between sobs, almost like a revelation instead of a declaration. Keith felt a smile against his collarbone. 

"Elaborate?"

"For one, you're silent. You don't make grand entrances, but everyone knows that you're, like, always there." A hand tangled in Keith's hair again. He let it. "There's always one side of you that's facing the dark. No one knows what’s there, everyone wonders, but no one has been able to step foot into the dark side of the moon. You look smooth and perfect and bright from far away, but when people get closer, they'll see that you're rough and flawed, that you need help to shine, too. People assume different things about you, I guess, before they get a closer look at how you really are. Okay, now your turn."

"My turn to do what?"

"Tell me what you think of me as. You know, like what kind of astrological body do you think I am—"

"A supernova." It burst out of Keith's mouth before he could stop, so suddenly that Lance snapped up, confusion etched across his face. 

"A supernova? Why?"

Because Lance was a titanic explosion that marked the beginning of the end of Keith.

Was what he meant to say.

"I guess you'll find out."

And Lance never did.

 

For the entirety of the night, Keith didn't sleep, not when the prospect of it scared him more than it did comfort. He couldn't close his eyes without thinking that he might turn during the night, that his mouth would be gnawing at Lance's flesh just because he would, then, be the nearest human. Visions of his fear came to him in flashes even when he blinked, the thought of eating alive someone he cherished was too much to bear. So much that, throughout the night, Keith just wanted to scream.

He didn't, and now his entire chest hurts. The concealed cries have been clawing their ways out. 

"I told you to wake me for my shift!" Lance paces around their camping area, throwing his arms up in a Lance-like hysterical fashion. "You look like shit, man. And I mean  _ absolute _ shit. I can't believe I ever let you take the first shift. I mean, what was wrong with me? Of course you'll forget to sleep. How  _ do _ you even forget to sleep—"

"I'm sorry." Keith only manages a rasp, before looking down at his feet. He has half a mind to continue and give his reasons, but the other half demands that he shuts up, reminding him that he is bad at lying. He leans back onto the tree behind, pressing his entire body on it to give himself leverage and stand up. He does his best to hide labored breaths, to try and make it seem like his entire right arm is not unusable and unmovable by his side.

Lance's sigh jostles him. 

"Alright, whatever. If you pass out on me, I won't carry you." That's a lie, but now, more than anything, Keith wants Lance to mean what he said.

"You will. Not carrying people seems like an un-Lance thing to do." Keith lets out an airy snort, silently glad that he still has the breath to do it. 

"Shit, you're right, but that's because I'm a  _ gentleman _ ." 

Keith's lips unconsciously quirk up into a small smile, but that's normal. He usually smiles around Lance, with neither of them knowing that he does. He pushes himself from the tree, only to stumble and nearly fall. 

"Jesus, you haven't slept the whole night. Take it slow." Comes Lance's comment, his usual playful banter replaced by one of concern, and it breaks Keith's heart a little that the hurt in Lance's voice isn't subtle enough to not indicate how he has made other people's problems his own again.

"I'm fine. We can go now." Keith takes a few steps forward as proof of his claim, only to meet Lance's skeptical gaze. But it seems like Lance has decided to let go of his suspicion, as, a few seconds after, he sighs, defeated.

"We'll need to leave some kind of sign though. In case the others are somewhere behind us and stuff." Lance rubs his chin, one of his many habits when he is being more thoughtful than usual. He begins pacing around, hands behind his back, shoulders hunched forward just like Keith's silent prediction. Blue eyes scan around the area, looking for something useful, squinting as he scrutinizes every object. 

And when he does find what he wants,

"That's it!" Lance's eyes seem to sparkle. There is a contented grin on his face as he moves, so quickly Keith doesn't even have time to react, snatching the knife from Keith's belt and unsheathing it. For a brief second, Lance just stands there, admiring the knife's aesthetic. He recovers fast enough, however, and begins to carve something into a tree trunk.

"What are you doing?" Keith doesn't trust himself to move toward Lance and not collapse, so he stays where he is, giving his best effort to anchor himself to the ground. He keeps his eyes pointed at Lance, at the way his gaze sharpens when he focuses on something, and silently curses at the butterflies assaulting his stomach that, in this very moment, are so powerful they overwhelm the pulsing pain spreading in his chest. 

When Lance pulls away from his handiwork, Keith can see that he has carved on the tree a stylized V, looking somewhat like a logo, which doubles as an arrow pointing in the direction they will be heading toward. 

"How do you know they'll recognize it?" 

"Hunk knows this symbol as well as I do. We came up with it." Lance puts the knife back in its sheath, looking inherently proud of his carving. "Come on." He prompts, keeping the knife with him, and waves for Keith to come along. On his lips is a grin, radiant, a rare ray of sunshine in this mess of gray clouds and man-eating corpses.

And briefly, Keith wonders how he will ever be able to abandon Lance in that same world.

 

Keith finds it funny how, when the awareness of impending death completely kicks in, memories, good and bad alike, brings one on a downward spiral whose force of gravity is so enormous it can’t be escaped from. 

His breaths are fast and uneven, trembling to the point of pain. The ache in his chest returns abruptly. It creeps up, clenches on his throat, stops his breathing short, and reduces his mind into jumbled bleariness. Present happenings are casted aside in favor of a distant conversation, something a man with an Australian accent has told him since the beginning of the end of the world. Something that has only been brought up when Allura grit her teeth and brought the sterilized butcher knife down on Shiro’s right arm, when all four of them, Keith, Lance, Hunk, and Katie turned away from the gore, only to have the vision carved into their minds by ear-shredding screams.

Keith still has nightmares of that moment. They all do. Fitful nights of tosses and turns and dreams that center around made-up scenarios, only for their eyes to snap open and instantly flick over to where Shiro sleeps, erratic heartbeats calmed solely by the confirmation that he is still with them despite the empty space that was once his right arm.

Allura has been the loudest when she wakes up from those nightmares. It’s understandable, because she was silent, _so_ _silent_ , when she volunteered to amputate Shiro, assigned herself a task so painful even Keith couldn’t bring himself to undertake. It was almost as if for that moment, she had muted all of her screams, built up a delicate barrier to keep those sounds locked up, just for them to return at a later time and completely tear down her throat, wound her heart with another cut that will never have enough time to heal properly.  

During his internalization, Keith realizes that, from the beginning of the outbreak until now, each of them has had a fair share of scars, ugly, jagged gashes embed into their skin and bodies, flesh-made trenches and ridges that tell stories of their past battles against the undead and the vicious whispers of their own minds—

"Keith!"

"Huh?" His mind clears at the loudness of Lance's voice. It's almost like snapping awake when sleepwalking and finding himself crashing face-first into a tree.

In retrospect, that might have been exactly what it is, even if Keith doesn't distinctly remember falling asleep. 

"Are you okay? I've been calling you for God knows how long," Lance catches up to him, laying a hand on his shoulder and pulling him back from the tree he has just planted his face into. "You kinda look like death itself, buddy. Need a rest?" 

Fog covers Keith’s vision, although he has been certain that it is a clear day. He considers the buzzing in his ears, static noises that have only been registered just now. Keith tries to move his right arm again, but the unresponsive limb stays still, disconnected nerves refusing to receive his brain’s signals. He scowls at his unmoving hand like it will make a difference, then turns his gaze and catches sight of a mildly confused Lance. 

“I’m serious, we can rest if you—  _ What did I do _ ?” Said boy throws his hands up in his typical dramatic fashion, possibly reacting to Keith’s too-intense glare. 

“Nothing. We’ll rest when we find a good place.” 

“I don’t know man, but you really have to stop with the zoning out. I know you’re tired and all but that’s kinda all on you.” Lance’s insights prove to be a bit unhelpful, so Keith disregards them with the closest to a sigh his lungs can manage. 

“I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t  _ look _ fine—”

“ _ Lance! _ ” 

The awareness of his loudness startles Keith. He shuts up and turns away, huffing out a breath. 

“Are you s—”

“Just give it up, Lance. I’ll manage.”

 

“It is, truly, quite an impossible feat to invalidate the philosophy of mortality. All things must die, so long as they have a physical manifestation.”

As he uttered the first of his final words, the man haphazardly laid in a pool of his own secretion. Blood, to be exact. Blood was slippery, always was, when it first spilled out of wounds and poured on the ground. There was blood splattered on the ceilings and floor and glass walls, so much of it that the room looked drenched in red. 

Keith wasn’t too fond of the scene, but swallowed the bile in his stomach anyway. 

The mustached man was sprawled across the floor, limbs reaching from the edge of his desk to the feet of his downlookers. The white lab coat lay discarded, a corner dipping into deep red, soaked. Noises came from the outside – of dead bodies bumping into glass and screams (many, _ many _ screams still, how  _ long _ had it been?) resonating through the building. 

“Coran, please.” Allura’s voice sounded like it was stuck in her throat. She knelt beside the man, a hand caressing his pallid skin. He looked dead, like a corpse, a body ready to decompose, if it hadn’t already. 

“Lady Allura..” Came the murmur, spoken so softly, so intimately familial, that Keith felt like he wasn’t supposed to be there. “I’m afraid I cannot remain conscious for any longer.”

He stayed anyway.

“Don’t do this to me, Coran.” 

Allura cradled the man’s limp hand in hers and brought it to her cheek. The man’s skin must have felt cold, dead body-cold, but Keith wouldn’t know. He was merely an outsider. 

“Listen, lady Allura—”

“Please don’t speak.”

“This virus is extremely lethal—”  
  
“I don’t care.” 

Allura’s eyes squeezed shut.

“If you are infected, you have one hour—”  
  
“I don’t care! Please..”

“Otherwise you are good as dead.”

“Please.” 

A frail hiccuped word. 

Keith saw it before anyone else – the barrel of a loaded gun. The muzzle near a deathly pale temple. 

“It’s been an honor serving you, princess Allura.”

Everything froze then, because the gun was cocked and the trigger was pulled and Allura was crying. 

And crying.

And screaming.

And Keith wished that he could comfort her but he couldn’t because he was just an onlooker.

 

And then Keith saw his body instead of Coran’s.

 

“What are you doing?”

Keith unclenches his fist, only to find that his nails have left dented marks on the skin. He can’t feel the marks. Can’t feel anything with the tips of his fingers. Not anymore. 

Not even the weight of Lance’s gun. 

Not even Lance’s hand when it hurriedly pries his fingers away and lifts the nonexistent weight.

Keith is left to wonder whether or not a thing exists even when he can’t feel it.

“Why?”

A simple question. A not-very-simple answer. Keith has been postponing this answer for so long that he is unsalvageable. He touches the edge of his right sleeve  ~~ can’t feel the fabric ~~ and tugs it up.

“I was bit.”

The look on Lance’s face, for a moment, is undecipherable, but Keith blinks again, and finds that Lance is suprised _ mad _ **_horrified_ ** . 

“When was this?”

“When I got you out of that herd.”

There is an additional emotion present on Lance’s expression now. Keith thinks it is remorse. Guilt, perhaps. He doesn’t like this.

“Is that why your hand was cold?”

Keith nods.

“I’m sorry.” The voice is tiny, almost going unheard.

What?

“Why?”  
  
“Sorry for getting you bit.” Lance reiterates. Keith doesn’t understand.

No, he does, but he doesn’t want to. Lance blames himself. Of course he does. Keith wants to cry or scream.

Or both.

So he answers, very eloquently, “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no.” Keith tries to stand up. He does, and is now forcing himself to stand still instead of swaying like a drunkard. “You.. are not allowed to be sorry.” He points at Lance, index finger pressing into the latter’s chest. (but he only sees it pressed there and feels nothing, Keith doesn’t like not feeling anything.)

“Wha—”

“No. You’re not allowed to blame yourself for my mistakes.” He interrupts Lance, each word slowly rolling off his tongue like molasses. He wonders why. “I want you to know, right now, that it’s not your fault I got bit. It was  _ my _ decision to jump into that herd, and  _ my _ decision to be careless, and  _ my _ idea to ignore the virus until it’s incurable.” Keith takes a deep breath. Loses all what he’s going to say. Panics. “So..”

He can’t even form long sentences now.

“So please, Lance. If you  _ ever _ blame yourself for the bite,” Keith’s hand lands on the gun to emphasize his point, “I will take this gun and shoot you and then myself.” 

Lance looks thoughtful, although Keith can’t guess what’s going on inside his head. He isn’t sure he has the mental capacity to at this point. 

“Is that why you were hiding the bite?”

Keith nods.

“I’m sorry.” 

“ _ Lance.. _ ”

“Yeah, I know.”

Keith sits down again, plops straight to the ground and crosses his legs. Lance follows suit. They’re a foot apart, and Keith looks to the sky. He can point out about one constellation – Orion right above his head – aside from which he is completely unaware. Keith turns his head left to steal a glance, like he has always done before.

Only this time, Lance looks back. 

Always so soulful, those ocean eyes. 

If Keith’s blood is even present right now, he will be blushing. 

“If I shot myself here, would it be okay?” 

Keith has never been good at breaking silences.

“Are you ready? To die, I mean. Literally go out with a bang.”

Keith laughs, or tries to, “No, that’s Shiro’s shit.”

Lance snickers, too. Memories of a distant late night conversation resurface, and, suddenly, Keith once again wonders how he will die.

“You said you wanted to die under a sky full of stars.”

“I did, and I still do.” 

“But come to think of it, you never told me how you thought I’d die.” 

Either Lance has scooted closer or Keith has. Either way, Keith is fine with their new distance.

“Well, I always thought you were the kind to die from sacrificing yourself. Not always for a greater cause or anything, but for someone you love. Someone you’ve sworn to devote yourself to forever.”

Lance’s prediction hits close to home. Keith snorts.

“But I’m serious, are you ready?”

“For what?”  
  
“To die.”

Keith halts, his gaze remains trapped on Lance.

“I don’t know.”

“Means you’re not ready.”

“I guess.” 

“Means you can still make it back to the others with me.”

Lance’s hand brushes Keith’s ever so slightly. Keith can’t feel the skin as they make contact but he does look down. 

 

“I think we’ll have to power our way through this herd.” Keith points at a sea of the undead as he unsheathes his knife. He can’t feel it, but can still wield it, albeit a bit more difficult. 

“Can you actually fight with your arms like that?” Lance looks concerned, as if he will fight the battle alone if he has to.

Keith switches the knife to his left hand, finding it much easier to use. 

“I can.”

 

He can’t. 

At least not with the way he staggers. Keith slashes at approaching corpses, moves over when he can, and has gotten through the herd quite a bit on his own. His vision blurs once in a while. There is static in his ears. 

Everything seems to happen in flashes. 

Like a red mouth.

Like gray, dull, rotten eyes.

Like wobbling and falling.

Like everything turning black.

 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t worry, I took care of those assholes and brought you back in one piece.” Lance is smiling. It is night again. 

“But I—”  ~~ was in the way, was a burden, couldn’t do it even though I said I could . ~~

“No, nope. Don’t try. What did you tell me to do?”

Keith sighs.

“Next time, I might not be able to keep up. One day, I’ll turn, you know.” He wraps his arms around himself and pretends that his sensory neurons still work.

He sees a jacket draped on his back. Maybe Lance thinks he’s cold. He accepts the gesture anyway and visualizes warmth at the pit of his stomach.

“I’m serious, Lance.” He is facing Lance now, eyes at equal levels. “What will you do when I turn?”

“Keith, I..” Ocean eyes trail down, emotions unclear. 

“Look at me.” 

They meet eyes again.

“Look at me in the eyes and promise. Promise me that when I turn, you will pick that gun up, no matter where you are, and kill me. Make sure I’m dead. Make sure I’m gone.”  _ Make sure I can’t hurt you where I’m going next. _

Keith hears the difficult gulp, and a promise has been made.

That night, neither of them look up to the sky. 

 

“Fuck.” 

Keith grabs onto the tree trunk and tries to stand again.

He fails. 

Lance doesn’t seem to want to look.

So Keith tries again.

 

The view is different from this perspective. Everything looks like it’s bouncing. Everything is a blur. Everything still happens in flashes. 

Keith can’t feel his arms.

Neither can he feel his legs. 

Lance’s back is broad and his shoulders are wide. Keith’s arms are looping around Lance’s neck. His legs are held up by Lance’s hands. He should feel safe, but he just wants to sleep.

“Lance, I’m sleepy.”

“Try to stay awake just a bit more. Can you do that for me? I’m gonna bring you back to the others, and we’re gonna say proper goodbyes, and—”

 

“Can you put me down?”

 

“No, Keith, please—”

 

“Lance..  _ Please _ .”

 

“Lance, you will have to shoot me.”

 

The cocking of a gun sounds too transparent in an empty clearing.

Keith can’t seem to focus his eyes, but Lance hovers right above him. 

Glassy blue eyes, just like that one night. Keith reaches his hand up. He thinks he is touching Lance’s face, but he doesn’t know. 

“I can’t feel your skin.” He hears his own voice crack. “Why can’t I feel your skin?”

He sees Lance’s hand over his. Doesn’t know if they’re touching. 

“Your hand is cold.” Lance tells him, beads of liquid rolling down from the corners of his eyes. 

“Like an overflowing ocean.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Did I ever tell you they look really nice?”

Lance shakes his head, “No.”

“That’s not good.” Keith’s eyelids droop down. He tries to keep them open. “Should’ve told you more.”

“Yeah, asshole.”

Keith laughs. 

“You have a really nice voice, too.”

“Thanks.”

“I really like it when you talk about your family.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, and when you talk about what you love? Your eyes just fucking sparkle.”

“You notice?”  
  
“Yeah, ‘s like some anime shit.”

It’s Lance’s turn to laugh.

“Lance, I’m sleepy.” 

“Go to sleep. When you wake up, it’ll all be over.”

Somehow, Keith believes that.

“Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“One more thing.”

Keith takes his deepest breath yet.

“Close your eyes.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

Keith reaches his other hand to Lance’s face, hoping he’s touched, and pulls Lance down. 

Just a light lip touch on the forehead.

The lips, well, they’re reserved for someone else.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m thinking about making this AU a series because there are just so many plot points I wanted to uncover that will do more harm than good if I tried to jam into this one-shot. I especially wanted to develop that Coran flashback scene (he needs more love and more character-focus content and we all know that), as well as a realistic take on Klance (and pining Keith) without omitting and/or disregarding the canon chemistry between Keith and Shiro (in short, no Broganes in this AU)
> 
> disclaimer: since i'm not really a zombie expert, or zombiologist, if you will, the majority of Keith's turning process is stuff i pull from my sleep-deprived ass
> 
> find me on tumblr: [faceitimanasshole](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/faceitimanasshole), my blog is basically a giant shitpost


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